


Professor Winchester

by DeansDirtyLittleSecret



Series: Professor Dean Winchester AU [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking, Explicit Language, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Professor Dean, Reader-Insert, Smut, Supernatural smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyLittleSecret/pseuds/DeansDirtyLittleSecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Dean Winchester and the reader meet and flirt, only to discover later that she is his student.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Professor Winchester

You’d promised you’d come to the party, after all you’d known Jo since freshman year, but you didn’t want to be here, you just wanted to head back to the dorm and get yourself organized before your classes started in two days. This was your last year of college and you were determined to get off on the right foot; which had started with you promising yourself no drinking and no parties. Period.

Except here you were, at a party. At least the drink in your hand was soda, rather than the customary beer or other liquor. And honestly, could it be considered a party when you were standing in a corner observing the crowd rather than joining in? Not to mention, this was a tame party compared to what you’d grown accustomed to, no one was running around in their underwear, the music was at a relatively low level and everyone seemed pretty calm. At the moment, but you knew from experience how quickly Jo’s parties could escalate and get out of control.

You were actually thinking about leaving, confident you could sneak out unnoticed, when _he_ walked through the door. You'd never seen him before, not in your three years as a student on this campus. He was definitely someone you would have noticed.

He wasn't like the other guys at the party, you could see that right away. He was wearing clean, relatively new jeans, a wrinkle-free red plaid button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a nice watch. He had on dark brown work boots, scuff free and clean. His light brown hair was short and neat and he looked like he would smell amazing. He had a beard, not a full, thick one, one that looked like he’d refused to shave for a few days. It was ginger red and well kept. He had a light dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks, gorgeous green eyes and then there was his mouth. Holy shit, that mouth could stop traffic. His lips were full and pink and utterly kissable, the kind of lips that made your heart stop a little just from looking at them, the kind of lips that were distracting to the point that you’d forget what you were saying if you stared at them too long, the kind of lips you could imagine wrapping themselves around your...

Too late, you realized you were staring and biting your lower lip, completely lost in the fantasy playing itself out in your head. He glanced over at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth when he noticed you staring. You quickly looked away, a blush creeping across your cheeks. You took a sip from your soda and tried to look anywhere but at him.

You managed to work your way outside to the back patio, grateful for the light breeze cooling your flushed face. You sat on the low stone bench on one side of the patio, away from the noise and mayhem you could sense growing as more and more liquor was passed around. It was quiet and the party seemed to still be contained to the inside of the house, though you could hear everything through the partially open door. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the porch railing.

“Not having fun?” a deep voice murmured.

You jumped, your eyes snapping open to see him standing less than a foot away. He was smiling, one hand tucked in his front pocket, the other on the rail not far from your head.

You laughed and shook your head. “Not really,” you answered. “What about you?”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “This is my friend Sam’s place. His sister goes to the university and is throwing this party. He asked me to come keep him company.” He looked around. “But he ditched me when his fiancee Cara showed up.” He held out his hand. “Name’s Dean.”

You took his proffered hand. “I’m Y/N,” you said. You patted the seat next to you. “Would you like to have a seat?”

“Sure,” Dean smiled. He slid onto the stone bench next to you.

You weren’t sure how it happened - you started out talking to Dean, just chatting, having a good time, ignoring the party inside, the two of moving closer and closer together as the music and people got louder and louder, until your knees were touching. Then his arm was around your waist, his fingers resting on your hip and his lips were lightly brushing over yours. It was a slow, easy kiss, each of you testing what the other liked and wanted. It was amazing, better than you’d thought it could be. His lips were soft and just as kissable as you’d imagined. You wanted more.

The kiss deepened as the two of you pressed your bodies together, your hand sliding up his thigh, his moving slowly up your side until he was lightly caressing your breast through your blouse. You sighed and leaned into him, carding your fingers through his short hair. The heat between you was palpable.

“We should get out of here,” Dean mumbled between kisses. “Go back to my place?”

You were nodding, desire and want and need all coming together to push all reason out of your brain, forcing you to forget all of those rules you’d given yourself about men and parties and no sex on the first date. Hell, this wasn’t even a date, but oh my god, could this guy kiss. He kissed you like he wanted to learn everything about you, like you were the center of his universe, like the only thing that mattered was getting to the bottom of the enigma that was you. If he was this good at kissing you could only imagine what else he was good at.

“Dean?” The shout came from the open patio door and just a second later, Jo’s older brother, Sam, ambled out the door, a pretty brunette on his arm. “Christ, there you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Sam’s presence outside was like a siren’s call. The back patio door came open and a multitude of people spilled outside, drinks in hand. Dean reluctantly pulled away, but his hand stayed on your back, his thumb tracing small circles on your spine. He sighed audibly. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a pen, put it in your hand, then he held out his hand, palm up.

“Number?” he said quietly.

You quickly scribbled your number on his hand, before you changed your mind. When you were done, you handed Dean the pen. He tucked it back into his pocket, leaned over and placed a kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll call you next week,” he said. “We can pick up where we left off.” He winked and pushed himself off the bench, disappearing into the crowd of people streaming from the house. You didn’t see him again the rest of the night.

* * *

Your last class on Monday was on the other side of campus, the furthest building from your dorm. As you hurried across the grounds, the late afternoon heat making you feel like a wilting flower, your thoughts turned again to the mystery that Dean had become.

He hadn’t called you, though his vague next week comment made it impossible to be angry with him. Yet. It had only been two days. You’d done some asking around after he’d disappeared at the party, but no one knew anything more than you did, that he was a friend of Jo’s older brother Sam. No one knew if he was a student or if he was new to the small town, in fact, no one had even seen him before the party.

Thoughts of Dean left your brain as soon as you stepped through the door of the classroom. The room was nearly full, just a few seats remained in the front row. You sighed and made your way down the stairs of the huge lecture hall and took a seat in the first row right next to the stairs. You glanced at the board, an old fashioned chalk one.

_Professor Winchester_ was written in all capital letters across the board, but you didn’t see the professor anywhere. He was new to the university, a history professor. You’d heard he was an expert on mythology and lore and that he’d just returned from some university overseas where he’d been teaching. He was supposedly a genius.

You were anxious to meet the elusive Professor Winchester. You were hoping to get a teaching assistant position for the semester and rumor had it he was looking for one. You were hoping that your extensive knowledge of linguistics plus your stellar grades in your previous history classes would give you enough of an edge to get the position. You were hoping you could talk to him after class.

The sound of the doors at the top of the stairs slamming closed pulled you from your thoughts. You glanced at the clock above the chalkboard. Looks like Professor Winchester was tardy to his own class.

“Sorry about that guys,” a deep voice muttered. “Sucks to be late when you’re the teacher.”

You straightened in your seat, realization slamming into you. You turned in your seat to see Dean striding purposefully down the stairs, an army green backpack slung over his shoulder. He walked right past you, not even glancing your way. He was wearing a dark blue button up and dark jeans that looked like they’d been pressed, neatly cuffed over the top of his work boots. He looked just as good as he had the night of the party, maybe better. He dropped his backpack to the floor, pushed up his sleeves and propped one hip on the edge of the wooden desk. He smiled widely at the class assembled in front of him.

You weren’t sure how to react. Part of you wanted to shrink down into your seat, prop a book in front of you and hide behind it. Another part of you wanted to jump up, tackle him and pick up where you left off the other night. Your head was spinning.

You forced yourself to pick up a pen and follow along with the rest of the class, but you were having a hard time concentrating with Dean pacing in front of you like a caged tiger. He roamed the small area at the front of the room as he taught, his hands gesturing wildly. He was animated, excited, and sexy.

Class was nearly over before Dean noticed you. He had grabbed a stack of papers and sprinted to the top of the stairs, taking two steps at a time, stopping at each row to drop the papers on each desk. When he reached yours, you looked up at him, smiling tentatively.

To his credit, he didn’t skip a beat. He dropped the papers to your desk with an easygoing smile before crossing back to his desk. He checked his watch, then wrapped up what he’d been saying.

“Sorry again about being late,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Read through the syllabus, let me know if you have any questions.”

You took your time gathering your things, watching the other students as they hurried from the room. The class cleared out quickly, thanks to it being so late in the day. When the door swung closed behind the last person, you finally turned to look at Professor Winchester.

Dean was sitting in his chair, his feet propped on his desk, hands folded in his lap and a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I thought you might hang around,” he murmured.

“Professor, huh?” you said. “You might have mentioned that before we started making out.”

“Sorry,” he shrugged. “Are you grossed out? Mad? Are you going to report me to the dean for inappropriate behavior?”

“I’m a student,” you said, shaking your head. “That isn’t, I don’t know, weird for you?”

Dean sat up in his seat, dropping his feet to the floor with a loud clunk. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his green eyes staring into yours. “When I kissed you, hell, when I talked to you, I was completely aware of the fact that you were most likely a student. But you know what, Y/N? We’re both adults and I’m guessing that if you’re in this class, then you are almost done with school, right? Which makes you just a few years younger than me. I took a chance that you wouldn’t be in one of my classes. Turned out I was wrong.”

“So I guess that means I’ll never get that call,” you muttered, the irritation clear in your voice. You pulled your bag onto your shoulder, ready to get out and save what little dignity you had left. You turned to leave, but a heavy hand on your elbow jolted you to a stop.

“I never said that,” Dean whispered, his mouth right next to your ear.

You turned your head just enough so that your lips were inches from Dean’s, your breath mingling as the air between you thickened with desire.

“Not weird,” he breathed, just before his head dipped down and he caught your lips in a kiss. It was like you were right back on that patio - Dean’s kisses were sweet and demanding, an unbelievable combination of innocent and naughty all mixed together. Both of his arms slid around your waist, your bag falling to the floor at your feet as you clasped your hands around the back of his neck. You moaned quietly, the sound swallowed by Dean’s mouth on yours.

He lifted you, his hands sliding over your ass to grab your thighs as he picked you up. He turned you around and set you on the edge of his desk, still kissing you, his hands now roving over the top of your t-shirt, the heat noticeable even through the thin cotton.

You pulled him between your open legs, wrapping them around the back of his, holding him close. You felt him smile against your mouth as he moved in closer, his body flush against yours.

It was like the two of you were still on that patio, still utterly and totally engrossed in each other, the rest of the world and all of its distractions were gone, it was just and Dean. You wanted nothing more than to let him take you in every way imaginable.

Your hand went to the button of his jeans, snapping it open with one hand. You were slipping it  into the waistband of his underwear, when he groaned and took a step back.

“Crap,” he grumbled. “Hold that thought.” He scooped you up, your legs now around his waist, and in three quick steps, he had opened a door next to the chalkboard, stepped inside and closed it with his hip.

There were boxes stacked haphazardly around the room and the desk in here was bare. You expected Dean to set you there, but he weaved through the mess of boxes and set you on an overstuffed, plaid couch. A giggle escaped you when you saw it.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Oh man, Professor Winchester, that is one ugly couch,” you laughed.

“Don’t make fun of my couch, Miss Y/L/N,” he growled, unceremoniously dropping you on it. “I like plaid.” He dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your legs open. “Call me Professor Winchester again,” he murmured, his lips just grazing yours.

Your hand returned to the waistband of his pressed jeans, cupping him through the thick denim. Dean groaned, his strong fingers kneading the muscles of your thighs, tingles of anticipation settling right between your legs. You put your other hand over his and gave it a tug, pulling it higher until it was resting between your legs. “Mmm, Professor Winchester,” you sighed, squirming.

Dean leaned over and kissed you possessively, one hand sliding under your ass and pulling you closer, his other hand pressing against you, rubbing gently. You wiggled slightly, trying to push yourself closer to him, wanting his hands everywhere, wanting to feel him everywhere. His fingers moved to the button on your shorts, popping it open easily. You turned, sprawling over the couch, pulling him down with you, sighing as the weight of his body on settled on yours.

The knock was sharp, loud and insistent, causing both of you to jump slightly. Dean groaned quietly in your ear, his head dropping to rest briefly against your neck. He pressed a wet kiss right against your racing pulse, then pushed himself to his feet.

He stood for a second beside the couch, face slightly flushed, lips kiss-swollen and pinker than usual, hair slightly mussed, an obvious bulge beneath his jeans. He buttoned his jeans and adjusted his shirt in a futile effort to hide his arousal, though it didn’t seem to help. He turned and maneuvered his way through the boxes, a grumbled “son of a bitch” drifting back to you.

You heard the door open and low voices talking, though you couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. A minute passed before the door closed and Dean returned. He took your hand and pulled you to your feet.

“Sorry,” he said, his arm sliding around your waist so he could pull you against his chest. “I have to go. The department head wants a rundown of my first day. Now.”

You buried your face against his chest, inhaling deeply, memorizing his scent. “I guess if you have to,” you mumbled, the sound muffled.

Dean chuckled and squeezed you tighter before releasing you and placing a kiss to your cheek. He sighed, his lips sliding along your jaw, his beard tickling your neck. When he reached your mouth, he nibbled at your bottom lip until your lips parted and his tongue could slid in, just dancing over your teeth.

Every inch of your body seemed to be throbbing with desire and you knew Dean felt the same way. But he pulled away, far sooner than you cared for, and you felt him re-buttoning the shorts he’d so easily opened just a few minutes earlier. He pressed several more soft kisses to your lips as he led you out of the office and back into his classroom. He picked your bag up and held it out to you, then he cupped the back of your head in his large hand, his fingers tangled in your hair, and kissed you again, one last, deep, mind-blowing kiss.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” he murmured before sprinting up the stairs and out the door, leaving you wanting and gasping for air in the middle of his classroom.


End file.
